


Probably Against Sanity's Laws

by BID



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cannibalism, Dark, Gen, dark!Sherlock, dark!john, mentions of vivisection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:36:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BID/pseuds/BID
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But now, seriously, he was not the idiot that Sherlock seemingly thought he was, and well aware of his flatmates 'unique cuisine' which's ingredients he obviously couldn't buy in a butchers shop. Or anywhere else to be exact.<br/>So when one night around 11pm he came into the flat like a  thunderstorm, almost tearing the door of the hinges ranting and swearing as John had never seen him, the army medic got up, made two cups of tea, somehow managed to strip Sherlock of his blood splattered clothes and shoes throwing them into the fire and making sure they burned entirely while Sherlock redressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Probably Against Sanity's Laws

John felt so amused.  
He had known, for a while now, that Sherlock's choice of meat was quite, let's say, exceptionel and against quite a number of social, government's and probably even sanity's laws.

The first time that he had noticed was the very same night he had returned from one of his 'dates', when Sherlock stood in the kitchen preparing a piece of meat, lumbus, and he had to admit that it took him a second to realise he gave a medical term to it. He never did that with animals. That was what he made him shuffle back two steps silently and have his eyes glimpse again at the Detectives very singular focus point.  
Yes, it was a loin, a lumbus, a very human lumbus that was not some part of a experiment, not from some long murdered cadaver from the mourge, but fresh and an ingredient.

Since then there had be numerous ocassions at rather ungodly hours, when he found, or heard from his bedroom floor, Sherlock cooking, or the kitchen in a disarray in the morning, that showed that it had been used for what it was supposed to be, cooking. On one quite memorial night John had left his bedroom door ajar, for no reason he could later explain to himself, when the smell of burnt human had clawed him into his nightmares with mines grenades and flamethrowers. Especially flamethrowers. Well, it was not exactly a nightmare, but a memory. It was rare that his dreams about the war got irrealistic or confus like most other dreams, and more often than not they were tightly built around memorys. Very real memorys.  
Sherlock however, always was so consumed that he never noticed John. No, not his usual ignoring, being ignored by Sherlock Holmes was an entire different experience than when he was not aware of your presence.  
When that mad genious detective is in the middle of something interesting and ignores you he plays the cool fully concentrated posh git he always shows to be. But, if he doesn't know you're there? That is one entire other story! That is the times you see his eyes gleeming, cheeks flushed, the pale irids pulled to thin circles as the pupils delate, a skip in his step and a huge, facesplitting grin with his many, many white teeth showing. Atleast if the experiment (or whatever other object of curiosity) does the expected. Or maybe in Sherlock's case rather, if it does the unexpected.  
So no, Sherlock definetely was not aware that John had seen him, and probably underestimated his catalogue of smell and his intellect. Just as always, what sadly did include many, many more people than only his friend.  
That was one of the meager things Sherlock shared with the rest of, well, the world's population seemingly. His belief in him, John, being stupid, or average or something like that.  
Hell, he flew threw school without any studying and A only grades, thesame with his MD, he wasn't a captain for nothing and no, Sherlock was actually not the only person with quite some room in his Hard Drive.   
Most of the times he didn't want to hear how the Detective got to his deductions because he didn't get 'how', no, he just wanted to know if Sherlock got there the same way! Of course, Sherlocks deductions were extremely acurate and on evidence only, John's were for a grand part medically based (medical conditins give a huge mass of information on a persons life and lifestyle), experience and intuition. Where Sherlock gave 10 points of information John could have given 8 of which 6 would be correct and 2 only half false or just a leap to short. (Anderson's numbers would probably drown under a huge, fat, red minus, that man, honestly..).

But now, seriously, he was not the idiot that Sherlock seemingly thought he was, and well aware of his flatmates 'unique cuisine' which's ingredients he obviously couldn't buy in a butchers shop. Or anywhere else to be exact.  
So when one night around 11pm he came into the flat like a thunderstorm, almost tearing the door of the hinges ranting and swearing as John had never seen him, the army medic got up, made two cups of tea, somehow managed to strip Sherlock of his blood splattered clothes and shoes throwing them into the fire and making sure they burned entirely while Sherlock redressed.   
"Sherlock. Where is your scarf."  
"Wha-? Oh. SCARF! Yes, he took it, couldn't get it back without leaving any more evidence."  
"It is the only evidence."  
"Obviously."  
"Who was the victim?"  
"John, uhm, you shouldn'-"  
"Information Sherlock, now."  
"Homeless, male, 24, 163cm, shaggy blonde hair, blue eyes, rather square, lots of muscle mass, mothly grey clothes."  
"The one often next to the cinema? Gave him your skarf two days ago, wore it to work on the way back I thought he looked cold, he liked it. Actually, there is evidence of me on it since I did wear it."  
"John."  
"And I forced you tonight to watch Doctor Who with me and have tea since 6pm till, ah, let's say, 2am? Sounds good, then I went to bed and heard you play the violin and then experiments and couldn't fall asleep till morning when we had breakfeast. Sounds good?"  
"..John, you-"  
"Yes, ofcourse we will have you whiped of the CCTV, any recording for that time actually."   
The Doctor, phone on his ear already started greeting someone, and schushing Sherlock every time the man opened his mouth.  
" Now Jabeth, listen, you are alone, if not make it happen instantly...Yes, good. Get a computer and a good connection, delete all audio, visual or other evidence of Sherlock Holmes in London except for 221B Baker street, from 6pm till now, also erase the call and don't leave traces, and I say no evidence of him, I mean not a bit on any device, and do it good, here's quite a Kraken involved. ...No Jabeth, that one is dangerous. But if you breathe a word about your Doc he will probably get really, really mad. But Jabeth, I've got something much better to deal for you! ... Yes, if things go by floating for this round I'll take you off the list for a while, sounds good? Great! Now, get to work, I'll check up in an hour or so. ...Thankyou a good morning to you too." Oh yes, 'Three Continent's Watson' definetely was a great help here. People do so many thing to get spared, and if you just choose the right ones and poke them in the right places they will sell themselves to you for a lifetime, just to have saied lifetime. It wasn't as if he tortured people! No, no, that was really beneath him. But he did have to make sure that they'd be to afraid to tell anyone. What was the least enjoya-  
"John!"  
"Sherlock, what?"  
"You should be aware that, I, am in fact the murderer here."  
"Oh I know that."  
Sherlocks face just gave that littla annoyed twitchy frown when he didn't understand something as an answer.  
"Obvious Sherlock, because you would be just thesame for me."   
A short silence befell the room as the Detectives face shifted from annoyed to confused to pleased to forced-frustrated.  
"It's not like you'd ever give me a reason."  
"Oh you know, you could also just do me the favour of not cooking in the middle of the night, but something more around evening and make a second helping."  
Sherlocks face fell, "Are you?"  
"Oh, No, no I meant from the side dishes. Cooked human, not really my area. I prefer them more alive and open with all the human bodys workings showing."  
Sherlock's eyes widened in his typical fascinated manner while John threw him his best winning smile.  
"How do you think I became such a good doctor?"

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, inspiration hit me when I saw a picture somewhere in the internet 'cannibal Sherlock and psychic ward patient John'.  
> It took me seemingly _forever_ to find some madness that'd fit John, and I found vivisections to be very likable.   
>  Maybe you have an idea now too why it has 'dates' in ''. Hope you liked it!


End file.
